


Stars Don't Cross In Eden

by Alexdoesthings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Kate Argent, Alternate Universe - Hunters, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Beta Derek, Conflict of Interests, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Gerard, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Hunter Training, M/M, Requited Love, Star-crossed, Stilinski Family Feels, The Alpha Pack, The Argent Family, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexdoesthings/pseuds/Alexdoesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first kill is the most important in a hunter’s life. The taking of the werewolf's fangs is the initiation into adulthood and into the ranks of the hunters.</p>
<p>Tonight, Stiles was going to kill his first werewolf, but Stiles isn't one for doing things by the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The hunting party had been chasing the creature since just after sundown and it was nearly three in the morning when Stiles finally cornered it. The werewolf had been crafty and managed to lose most of the family but Stiles was tricky too and one of their best trackers. It was a close thing, but in the end he caught the werewolf off a pure gamble. Stiles was entirely alone with his intended kill, the rest of his family far behind and in the wrong part of the woods trying to track the two of them down. This was his moment, but he still hadn’t moved.

The half-moon hung above the scene, casting milky light that glanced off the wire holding the werewolf to a thick tree trunk and the barrel gun in the hand of the young soon to be hunter. Stiles’s trap hadn’t been elaborate, but it had been subtle and that’s what had done it. He watched the werewolf struggle violently against his restraints and saw the stillness that went through him the moment he realized he could not break them. His glowing blue eyes were defiant when he looked up at Stiles standing a few feet in front of him.

The werewolf’s features smoothly turned human again and he asked aggressively, “What are you waiting for?”

Stiles gun was steady on him but he still hadn’t pulled the trigger. He wished he had done this while the creature was still wolf like. It was different now he was staring down a real person instead of one of the monsters his family had taught him to hate; a tall, dark, and handsome person at that.

“What’s your name,” Stiles asked. He didn’t know why he wanted to know, but it felt wrong to shoot him without knowing anything about him.

“What does it matter to you,” the werewolf growled dismissively, his eyes glowing blue again for a moment.

Stiles frowned at him, annoyed, and demanded, “Just tell me what it is.”

The werewolf struck a stubborn stance against the restraints and said, low and clear, “No.”

Stiles fired off a shot into the tree next to Derek’s head as a threat and shouted, “Tell me!”

His captive barely flinched, just watched him with keen eyes, waiting. Stiles could feel his usual restlessness, which normally drained from him during a hunt, invade his body under that stare. Maybe he saw something in Stiles or maybe he thought it would get him a quick death but whatever the case, the werewolf finally said, curtly, “Derek.”

Stiles nodded and for some reason felt the need to say, “I’m Stiles.”

Derek’s brow was forming a crease of confusion and suspicion over his eyes. Stiles was probably the only hunter he’d ever met who hadn't shot first and asked questions later. Stiles couldn't seem to help himself though, he was naturally bound by curiosity and, on top of that, nothing about this situation felt right to him. He knew he was supposed to kill Derek, it was his birthright and his destiny, but it simply sat wrong with him. He stood there for several long seconds more and finally huffed an angry sigh, his gun dropping from Derek and coming to rest at his side.

Derek looked genuinely bewildered now, watching Stiles like he was a rabid animal that had turned suddenly into a cuddly lapdog. Stiles rubbed his other hand over the back of his skull, agitated. He knew it was stupid, but he felt a stubborn resolve bubble out of the unsettled feeling in his gut and he was determined now. He holstered the gun and pulled out one of the knives he had specially crafted himself. He twirled it idly between his fingers, an unconscious habit he’d picked up, and walked toward Derek. Derek tensed, unable to move because of the wire trap Stiles had so cleverly caught him in.

Stiles raised the knife and Derek flinched, but, instead of cutting Derek, Stiles sliced into the taut wire with one strong, practiced movement. It fell from Derek and pooled at his feet in a long coil. He stared at it in some shock then looked back at Stiles quizzically. He was sure it was some kind of trick but Stiles honestly didn't seem to have an end game to this action; if he had wanted to kill Derek he had all the opportunity in the world. Stiles put the knife away an easy flick of his wrist as Derek tried to puzzle him out. Stiles eyes were defiant and held Derek’s gaze unflinchingly as he stared back at Derek’s wary confusion. Stiles broke eye contract to glance over his shoulder, paranoid that someone had seen. He turned his head back to Derek to see the werewolf still staring at him like he’d grown a third head, not having moved.

“Are you waiting for an invitation,” Stiles asked, annoyed, “Go!”

The hills muffled the noise so Derek didn't really pick up on it until Stiles did and they both tensed at the sound of the hunting party approaching fast on ATVs. Derek watched him for a second longer then took off into the depths of the forest at inhuman speeds. He didn’t go far though, wanting to know what would happen now. He hid himself in the deep shadows of a cluster of close growing trees some fifty feet away and listened as the rest of the hunting party caught up to Stiles.

Someone jumped off one of the idling machines and asked, urgently, “Where did it go?”

Stiles had been gathering his fallen wires and now stood up to face his family with an angry, bitter, and completely faked, “He got away.”

Stiles pointed north, knowing Derek had gone east as he said, still in that annoyed and bitterly disappointed tone, “It doesn’t matter though; we’ll never catch him tonight.”

He kicked at the remaining wire in a feigned show of frustration that actually just covered the evidence that the wire had been cut, and cursed angrily into the night. Stiles had referred to him as ‘he’ and not ‘it’ like the rest of his family, Derek noted, watching his profile in the moonlight. The air was filled with a general sense of frustration, the loss of a kill so hard fought for grating on all of them.

Chris silenced his vehicle and walked toward the young man as he asked, “What happened, Stiles?”

Stiles huffed out a breath and said, “I thought I had him caught, but I think there was something wrong with the wire.” Stiles hung his head and glared at the ground in shame at his entirely false failure.

Chris put a hand on Stiles shoulder as he promised, “You’ll have another chance, we’ll get it.”

Stiles looked up at him and nodded then returned his eyes to the ground. He kicked at the wires halfheartedly one more time as Chris turned back to the hunting party and ordered everyone to pack up for the night.

As the others turned to leave, Stiles glanced back through the trees and caught the barely perceptible glow of eyes watching him, puzzling out the curious hunter-to-be.


	2. Chapter 2

The early morning sunlight filtered through the trees and colored the mist a pleasant white as it burned off the evening dew. Stiles whistled idly as he walked through the opaque light with no particular destination in mind. He kicked his legs out as he walked, rolling stones out of his way and watching them shoot off into the sparse underbrush. The only sounds were his shoes crunching the leaf litter and the lilting tone of the song ringing eerily through the trees.  He leapt onto a small boulder protruding from the ground and balanced there on one foot for a second. He dropped, feet touching ground as he hit the chorus and continued on his way.

A casual observer might think Stiles wasn’t paying any attention at all. He dissolved this illusion by spinning smoothly on his heel and drawing his gun at the same time to point the barrel at the approaching figure, who stopped in his tracks a several yards away. Stiles finished the line he was on, ending his whistle on a high drawn out note, staring directly into the same captivating green eyes he had spared a few nights before. Derek’s expression was neutral as he quite literally looked his death in the eye, hands in his pockets like this was a perfectly ordinary meeting of strangers.

“They’ll always underestimate you if you look distracted,” Stiles said, evenly, “That’s something my Dad taught me.”

“Never let anything sneak up behind you is what he should have taught you,” Derek shot back coolly, eyebrows quirking derisively.

 “Who said you snuck up on me,” Stiles asked rhetorically, flashing a mischievous grin, “Maybe I let you.”

“I’ve been following you for ten minutes and you haven’t noticed,” Derek challenged with a casual shrug. Stiles didn’t even blink at that, holding Derek’s stare unflinchingly. Both were hunters, each a predator in his own right, and they stood, equally matched, in the tranquil peace of the morning, calm on the surface but watching each other like two such beasts might circle one another, assessing carefully.

“I was wondering if you'd show up. Does this mean you’re here to kill me,” Stiles asked calmly, still with that easy tone that suggested they were talking of nothing more consequential than the weather.

“That depends,” Derek said, slowly, shifting his weight, a warning he was going to move, before boldly taking a slow step forward as he continued with an innocently raised eyebrow, “Are you going to shoot me?”

Stiles kept his gun steady as he watched Derek’s nonthreatening approach with keen eyes. Derek stopped a few feet away from him, just outside the range where two strangers might have a conversation on an empty street.

“That depends,” Stiles mimicked the words with a cheeky smirk as he asked, “Are you going to make me?”

Derek chuckled low in his throat, and said, “That wasn't the plan.”

“So, my sworn enemy,” Stiles smirked and let the irony set for a second before asking, “care to take a walk with me?”

At the end of his question, Stiles slowly lowered his gun until it hung, relaxed but ready, at his side. They watched each other for a few longs seconds more before Stiles smiled calmly at Derek and slowly put his gun away, in a peace offering.

That elicited a cheeky smirk from Derek as he asked, in a light tone, “Are you sure you’re a hunter?”

“Born and bred,” Stiles shot back, not missing a beat, “but I am first, and foremost, a gentleman.” Stiles made a dramatic bow and sweep of his arms to indicate Derek go ahead of him, as though he’d opened the door at a restaurant and was ushering him in. They still didn’t take their eyes off each other, though the tension had taken on a new flavor as they felt out how much to trust the other.

Derek shook his head minimally in supercilious exasperation but started walking anyway, keeping the same distance between them. Stiles waited until Derek was level with him before starting in his original direction, now with the werewolf of his aborted hunt a few feet to his right. Stiles absently pulled out one of his knives and started playing with it, twiddling it absently between the fingers of his left hand. Derek shot it a look but dismissed it as the habit it was.

They walked in casual but charged silence for a few minutes before Derek commented, “You shouldn't be wandering around out here alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore,” Stiles observed, smoothly.

“Your family would say, in this case, that’s worse,” Derek pointed out.

“I can take care of myself,” Stiles dismissed easily, showed off a little with his knife, flipping it around his fingers and into the air once to catch it smoothly, “Besides, you shouldn’t be wandering around here at all, my family is still after your fuzzy hide.”

“I can take care of myself,” Derek said, mimicking Stiles phrase and casually started walking a little closer to Stiles as though to prove his point.

“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Big n’ Bad,” Stiles teased with an annoyingly flirtatious smirk, walking just a little closer to Derek as well, meeting his dare and adding a few inches.

“You shouldn't be so relaxed,” Derek warned lightly, keeping up the easy bantering tone, but adding a darker undertone as he said, “I could still rip your throat out in a matter of seconds if I wanted to.”

He walked a few inches closer to Stiles again in idle challenge. Stiles did not back down. In fact, he closed the distance between them by as much and then a little more, pressing it so they were walking maybe a foot apart. The tension between them was like lightening, both tensed for a blow but holding back and teasing the edges of their control.

“I’m hurt,” Stiles joked, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “You don't think I could take you?” He flashed Derek a mischievous grin as he continued, “As I recall, I totally wiped the floor with you in our last encounter.”

“That was almost five to one,” Derek pointed out, “not exactly fair odds.”

“Not when I caught you,” Stiles pointed out smugly, “You’d lost everyone else for a good half hour by then.”

Derek was quiet for a long few seconds as Stiles basked in the glow of his triumph, chest puffed out more than usual. He flipped his knife behind his back and over his head, just to prove he could, and was even happier when he didn't fumble it pathetically  and stab himself as he had every time he’d tried that maneuver before.

“Why did you let me go,” Derek finally asked seriously, voice quiet like he expected the words to magically take back Stiles’s moment of mercy.

“That’s why you came,” Stiles paused thoughtfully, the knife stilling in his hand.

They stopped at exactly the same moment and Derek turned to look at Stiles, who was still staring off into the trees ahead. The young hunter in training was quiet for a moment, eyes dark as memories flitted in front of his eyes. He finally turned and met Derek’s eyes sincerely.

His voice was quiet as he said, retrospectively, “I was taught to hate werewolves before I could walk. They tell me you're deranged and sick and you deserve to be put down. I've watched my family kill at least a dozen werewolves before and I believed it of every one of them. But when I was actually standing there behind the gun it just didn't make sense. They wanted me to pull the trigger and kill you in cold blood just because of what you are. As far as I know, you've never hurt anyone or done anything to deserve that, so why should I put you down like a rabid dog?” This was the first and only time he’d seriously questioned his family aloud and to a werewolf of all people. The irony was not lost on Stiles and he laughed under his breath at the thought.

Derek cocked his head slightly at the curious young man. This was not the logic of a born hunter, but approaching a hunter without the intention to silence it was also not the logic of a born werewolf. In that respect, they were both oddities.

“Besides,” Stiles continued, a flirtatious smirk erupting unexpectedly on his face once more as he looked at Derek, “killing someone so hot is blasphemy without at least a first date.”

Derek felt a little blindsided by that and Stiles couldn't help but laugh at his bewildered frown. Derek recovered with good humor though.

“Is this your new plan then? Court me to death,” Derek laughed with a shake of his head.

Stiles’s mischievous smirk could have gotten no wider as he said, “Admit it, you’d die happy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had gone out on the pretext of morning patrol and got back later than he meant to. He didn't care. In his head he was still running beside Derek. They had gotten into friendly competition, each trying his best to trip the other up as he showed off. Derek had moved so fluidly in his element it was mesmerizing. They had not left on certain terms but there was an understanding they would see each other again. That meant Stiles had some planning to do.

In his absence of mind, he bumped into someone in the hallway. The shock of the impact almost knocked him backward but he caught himself in time not to look like a complete fool. He straightened up and found he wasn't the only getting in late. Kate Argent looked killer as usual but there was the rumpled edges of a long trip about her and the purposeful movement of a summoned soldier. She took one look at him though and her face split into a mischievous grin.

“Good  _afternoon_  Stiles,” Kate said, playfully chastising, “Playing hooky from training?”

“You’ve seen through my devilishly clever plot,” Stiles said in sarcastic dismay, then said, more seriously, “I don’t have training today.”

Smirking, Kate crossed her arm, leaned against the wall, and tilted her head toward the yard in a gesture that meant he might want to rethink that.  She watched him with undisguised amusement, waiting for his memory to catch up. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her then felt his blood run cold as he remembered. Kate’s grin grew as she watched him.

“You’re looking a little pale there, honey,” she said in mock concern as she pushed off the wall before shooting him a devilish grin, “Friendly advice, you might want to put on some extra padding before you find Bennet, he seemed a little agitated.”

Stiles raced off like hell was biting at his heels, cursing under his breath, and almost smashed into the wall as he rounded the corner too fast. She laughed as he scrambled to catch himself and continued his charge. She shook her head, amused, before descending the stairs to weapons room. Gerard had called a strategy meeting that morning as soon as he’d arrived and Kate was coming in late with the good news.

Confrontation radiated up the stairs the moment she opened the door. The light over the table illuminated a large map and cast stark silhouettes of her brother, his wife, and their father on its edges.

“We can do this without him, there’s no reason to rush,” Chris was saying logically, his voice cold and hard.

“You said yourself,” Gerard answered back with the calm, righteous surety of his victorious position in this argument, “We need every able body we can get”

“He’s still in training,” Chris said through gritted teeth, “he’s not ready for that kind of bloodshed.”

“He isn’t a child anymore,” Gerard said dismissively, almost impatient with his son, “He needs to be strong, not just for this threat but the next.”

Chris felt his body tense at that, he’d heard those words before. The man had started his children on this path early in life but they were his direct descendants, Stiles was only related to the hunters on Claudia’s side, through his father’s sister. The boy was bright and an excellent tracker with great potential, but he had only just turned seventeen, the same age as Allison, still a child. And, despite her loss, Stiles still held much of his mother’s kindness in his heart; he was not ready to have that part of him destroyed just yet.

“What are you suggesting we do? Make him into cold-blooded killer,” Chris asked coldly, anger boiling under his skin at the mere suggestion.

“That’s what those things are,” Gerard roared back, a touch of madness showing through his great temper, “They’ll kill him without mercy; if he wants to survive he needs to be ready to do the same.”

They stared each other down for a moment before Gerard’s expression changed to that of the doting grandfather as he said, the threat evident under the words, “Though I hear Allison is a prodigy with a bow. Maybe she would be a better fit.”

Victoria grabbed Chris’s arm in a sharp warning to stop the hand that had begun tensing around his gun. He turned his head and met his wife’s hard stare. Victoria Argent had a glare that could cut sheet metal and tongue twice as sharp. She used it now to say, “Calm down, Chris,” as though he was being a disobedient child. He relaxed reluctantly as she released his arm.

Gerard smiled at his victory and turned back to the map, point made. His son was weak in his familial ties, but Gerard could not have asked for a better soldier.

Seeing the fun was over for the moment, Kate decided to make her entrance. As way of announcing her presence, Kate said to Chris, with only a hint of irony, “Don’t be so righteous. We’re protecting people from monsters. Claudia would be happy her boy is so important to such a noble quest.”

Chris glared at her nonchalance as she walked into the sphere of light created by the low hanging lamp over the table. She was her father’s daughter and she’d always looked down his strict adherence to tradition. It was not comforting to be outnumbered by these two but he could not claim innocence either, there was a lot of blood on his hands. The look in his sister’s eyes told him she knew the reasons behind his desire to protect Stiles from this fate, just as he was trying to do with his own daughter. It was not reassuring to see.

“Ah Kate, good of you to join us,” Chris intoned sarcastically. His father’s presence made him tense and on edge at the best of times, having his daughter brought up as she had been had not helped matters.

“It was worth the wait,” Kate said certainly, casting a smirk at her agitated brother, “And it’s not like you’ve-”

“Enough you two,” Gerard cautioned, cutting her off before asking, “What information did Leveque and Ulrich have for us?”

Kate looked terribly pleased with herself, like a cat that had cornered a mouse as she approached. “They did find something interesting up North. The rumors are true. The alpha pack is moving south toward this position,” Kate pointed at the map already laid out on the long table.

“How many,” Chris demanded.

“Five,” Kate stated, “There’s a chance they’re coming this way to recruit but the pack in Beacon Hills wants nothing to do with them.”

“Perfect,” Gerard said lightly, seemingly unconcerned as his eyes roved the surface of the map.

“Two extremely strong packs in the area doesn’t seem like cause for celebration,” Chris said, watching his father’s face warily. He had known this man his whole life, nothing good ever came from him being too happy. He had the same pleased look he so often did when he had something up his sleeve.

“They hardly need a reason to fight each other,” Kate pointed out, “With the right fuel for the fire they’ll do most of the job for us. We just jump in after and pick them off.”

“If it’s that easy then we don’t need Stiles. Leave him with his father to protect the civilians or make him backup but we swore to Claudia-” Chris started his next point of attack with forced calm but Gerard cut him off sharply, “Claudia is long dead, it is time we think of the living.”

Gerard had not turned away from his examination and occasional marking of the map as though this conversation held little weight. Chris was about to start again, glaring at his father, incensed, but his wife stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“I understand your position Chris but,” Victoria said to him then, with the sharp finality of an order, said to the group at large, “we need to get rid of these monsters. If that’s how we do it then that’s how it will be done. We get Stiles a kill, we get everyone in position, and we obliterate these things.”

She never broke eye contact with him while giving her little speech and he knew her well enough to see under her hard armor to her unspoken plea. She was afraid for Allison and she needed him to think of their daughter, not sacrifice her for a promise to his dead cousin. Backed into a corner, Chris caved and let them make their plans, silent, torn by his loyalties.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might lengthen this chapter a bit, we'll see. I just really wanted to get this part out of my system because it's been one of those scenes that I've had written since I first started the document. If I do I will put a note at the beginning of the next chapter about it when I upload it.

Derek hadn't noticed the intruder until the distinctive smell of gunpowder and steel was almost on top of him. Derek was fast with his attack but the young hunter had good reflexes and Derek had been thrown off balance by his sudden appearance. He ducked Derek’s first swipe and got under his guard. Derek’s other arm came up automatically and Stiles’s knife was immediately at Derek’s throat. They both froze, faces only a few inches apart. Derek could smell the poison on the blade and feel the pulse at Stiles’s neck as it pushed into his claws with each beat of his heart. They were both dead if they moved a muscle.

“Mexican standoff,” Stiles observed with a smirk, “not my first choice but it’s effective enough.”

Derek reluctantly let only his face return to human as he glared at Stiles. “What are you doing here,” Derek asked, enunciating his words carefully as he watched Stiles with wary eyes. Derek didn't need to ask how Stiles had found him; he had already proven his tracking skills to be more than adequate. It had probably been a cake walk for him to find Derek’s unassuming and very temporary hideout on the edge of the industrial park.

“I enjoy the company. Is that a crime now,” Stiles asked cheekily.

“It is to your family,” Derek pointed out. He cast his senses out to the surrounding area at the thought of the other hunters, already caught off guard once, but Stiles seemed to have come alone.

“Never knew you cared,” Stiles said, and his voice held an undertone Derek couldn't quite identify as he focused completely back on the hunter to be.

Stiles stare was hard but not aggressively so as he looked into Derek’s eyes for a long few seconds, shifting his weight a little so Derek’s claws weren't pressing as hard against his skin. For some reason, Derek started to notice the exceptionally limited space between them. Stiles’s eyes glanced down at Derek’s mouth for a second before returning to his eyes, his pupils dilating for a new reason.

Derek couldn't seem to help himself as he mimicked the motion on Stiles’s face, eyes traveling down to his slightly parted lips. Stiles’s tongue peaked out and left a shine of moisture on the pink of his bottom lip. Derek’s eyes jerked away from the sight, trying to ignore the stray thoughts that were trying to crowd his head.

“See something you like, wolfy,” Stiles asked, his voice a little huskier than usual, filled with an invitation that was more like a challenge. Derek’s eyes snapped onto his as he spoke and those defiant amber eyes sent a rumble through his chest.

They had been dancing on the edge of this since they met and Derek had decided it was not a good idea to pursue. They were natural born enemies after all. There weren't many relationships that were more hostile and deadly than the hunters and werewolves. If either of their families found out about this, they were as good as dead. But no matter which way he tried to logic himself out of it, those eyes shut down all rational thought processes.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but it seemed as though one second he was staring at Stiles and the next Stiles knife was hitting the ground as their lips found each other.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles snuck out every chance he got to see Derek. It was the most exhilarating experience, the danger and the adrenaline coursing through his veins every time he thought about his werewolf. Stiles had never had so much fun or connected so easily with someone before. Being around Derek, despite their differences, was as natural as breathing. Sometimes when they were together he forgot who they were, what their relationship was considered, what would happen to them if anyone found out. In those moments, it felt like there was nothing to forget because of how good it felt, how right. But it was dangerous to forget.

“What are you doing out here all alone kiddo,” the sweet female voice asked from behind him. Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. He could have sworn he had checked earlier and no one had been following him, but he had been, admittedly, sloppy, lost in his own thoughts.

He turned around and saw Kate standing there in the weak, milky glow of the half-moon piercing through the branches overhead, turning her blonde hair to a sharp silver. Her shot gun was at her side, one hand on her hip, and her eyebrows imploringly high over her knowing look. She had him, he knew it, but she couldn’t know exactly what was going on or she would have gone straight to her father.

“Nothing much,” Stiles answered casually, rocking back on his heels. He knew Derek was smarter than to burst out of the woods while someone from his family was around but he still wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

Her knowing look intensified and she strode toward him with a triumphant smirk as she said, “So it would be fine then if I told everyone else that you were out here and not say,” she feigned a look of concentration before putting verbal air quotes around the words, “’doing a biology project with a friend’.”

Stiles winced, she’d seen through his excuse from a few days ago, and admitted, “That wouldn't be an ideal circumstance.”

“So,” she sauntered up to him and said proudly, “Our little Stiles is sneaking out to get some, just like the big boys.”

“I’m not sneaking-” Stiles started to protest weakly but Kate interrupted with, “What’s his name?”

“H-his,” Stiles asked, trying to go for confused and nonchalant but he stumbled on the words because Kate was far too close to the truth for comfort.

“Mr. Biology, your boyfriend,” she clarified in a knowing, teasing sing song way.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles said, raising his hands out to his sides in a gesture of innocence, laughing shakily at her suggestion.

She gave him a knowing smirk that said, _stop playing with me, I know all your secrets_ , and said, “You've been practically skipping around the house like a love drunk puppy for the last couple weeks and you didn't think I’d figure it out? I've known you forever Stiles and the last girl you so much as spared a glance at was that Martin chick.”

Stiles stared at her for a few seconds, brain going into hyper drive. On the one hand this was the last conversation he had expected to have with Kate, but on the other here was a ready made excuse that would also keep her quiet. He decided to go with it. He shifted uncomfortably and played up the look of guilt at being caught. He looked up at her sheepishly as he admitted, “Derek. His name’s Derek.”

Her smile widened and she hugged him with an excited, “Oh sweetie I’m so proud of you,” she pulled back and gave him a falsely stern look as she said, “he better be hot.”

Stiles gave her a secretive smirk and said, “Hot doesn't cover it, he makes hell fire look cold.”

She wrinkled her nose at him in the way one might when looking at a yawning kitten then her look sobered and she said, with dead seriousness, “If he breaks your heart I’m putting a round in him myself.”

Stiles laughed at the irony in that. He hesitantly asked with a sheepish smile, “Can you, you know, keep this quiet? I don’t really want everyone else to know.”

“You go get him tiger,” she said with a wink, “I’ll cover for you.”

Stiles said quietly, “Thanks, Kate.”

“Anytime," she said clapping him on the shoulder, "you know I love you no matter what kiddo.”

She gave him a shove in his original, intended direction. He shot a look of gratitude back at her and she waved him on. It was nice, having told someone and having them accept some part what he was doing. Kate might not know the whole story but she got the important part, at least in Stiles’s opinion. Stiles turned and ran off into the trees.

That encounter was enough of a wake up call to get Stiles paying more attention, he couldn't afford to be caught, his and Derek's lives were both on the line, and he was lucky that Kate had taken the half truth without too much question. He took a zigzag loop around and doubled back in his tracks three different times in case someone was following him.

By the time Stiles caught up with Derek he was good and paranoid but he was also certain no one else had, or could, follow him. Derek noticed right away that he was wired and distracted, looking around through the trees like he expected the cavalry to come crashing through at any second.

“What happened,” he asked, urgently, grabbing Stiles arm to get him to focus.

“Nothing,” Stiles lied automatically, voice nervous and shaky as everything that had just transpired with Kate hit him full force. He clutched at Derek’s arm and a hysterical laugh came out of his mouth as he said, in some disbelief, “Kate knows. Holy… Kate!”

“What,” Derek asked sharply, grabbing Stiles chin and forcing his eyes to meet Derek’s worried glare. Stiles was too blown away by the spinning in his head to make actual words so he mostly just gaped at Derek like a fish out of water, that crazy, weak laugh coming out of his mouth at odd intervals.

“Stiles,” Derek commanded, words slow and carefully enunciated, “Talk to me.”

Stiles eyes focused hard in one sudden moment and he asked, very seriously, “Are you my boyfriend?”

Derek’s expression became confused and he tried to fathom out Stiles line of thought, head cocked slightly and eyebrows drawn inward.

Stiles became embarrassed and nervous, shifting his feet and biting his lip as he speedily explained, “Kate caught me in the woods and asked what I was doing and I told her nothing and she said I was sneaking out to see my boyfriend. Is that what we are? I mean, she doesn't know about the werewolf thing but she knows me pretty well and all and we've sort of been doing this thing for awhile and it never really occurred to me what we are, I mean other than the whole sworn enemies-”

Derek interrupted him with a kiss and said, “Shut up Stiles.”

“I’m getting mixed signals here,” Stiles said breathlessly. Derek chuckled at Stiles and leaned his forehead into the hunter’s affectionately.

“How much does she know,” he asked quietly after a moment.

“Virtually nothing,” Stiles assured him, “I was just careless and she caught me. It won’t happen again.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chris Argent, of all the hunters filing in and out at all hours of the day and night, seemed the only one who had nothing to smile about. He wasn't generally an overly warm and fuzzy kind of guy, but he did usually greet Stiles in a mildly friendly manner.  Since Gerard had arrived, he seemed to have a cloud of doom over his head that Stiles was wary of getting too close to lest he be the one to receive the fall out. This wasn't very hard to do since Chris had delegated his training out to other hunters while he was otherwise preoccupied with planning.

However, he took that particular day off from strategizing to throw Stiles around the yard. He had called it training but Stiles felt more like Chris was blowing off a considerable amount of steam and Stiles was his unfortunate punching bag. They had been going at it for hours and Stiles was out of breath and felt like he’d been hit by a train. He was certain that even Derek would have broken a sweat at this abuse.

Stiles couldn't even form words, which was an achievement, so he didn't have a snappy remark to throw around when Chris loomed over him again. He tensed, but instead of hitting him, Chris threw a towel at him. Stiles caught it with a sigh of relief and reveled in the reprieve as he swiped the sweat off his face and neck.

When he straightened up properly to look at his mentor, Chris’s face was a flat stone expanse from which Stiles couldn't discern any emotion. His eyes told the story though as he looked at Stiles, under their heavy guard there was bitterness, anger, but most prominently a deep remorse. Now Stiles saw it in his eyes, he started picking out the feelings elsewhere too. Chris’s posture was strong but stiff, that of a fine soldier who didn't like his marching orders.

“Is everything okay,” Stiles asked, frowning as he picked up on each of these things.

There was a twist to the hunter’s mouth and, for a second, Stiles thought he was going to apologize for something but then Chris had grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his chest. Stiles tensed for a second, thinking Chris was attacking him again, before he realized that he was being hugged. The hug was that of a father, firm and protective, one he might give before sending a child to war.

“You will make a great hunter,” Chris said and his voice was certain but he held Stiles a little tighter at that, almost as though he thought if he just held Stiles right then he could protect him from the world.

“Thanks,” Stiles said slowly so it came out more like a hesitant question than an acceptance of such high praise.

Chris called it a day after that and released Stiles from the rest of his duties to get some sleep. So Stiles, naturally, took the opportunity to track Derek down. It would have been nice to sleep after the long night he'd pulled patrolling and trying his hand at tracking Derek down in the dark, but Stiles's desire to see his werewolf outweighed his other needs.

He followed the faint trail from the night before and, mostly likely due to his sleepiness, was found and cornered first. But Stiles wasn't complaining when Derek appeared with a smug grin on his face to pin him down and proceeded to banish all other thoughts from his mind. By that point, Stiles knew that they had met more than ten times but less than twenty three, other than that he’d lost track. But, for the connection they’d built, it felt like he’d known Derek far longer. They were like two parts of a whole they hadn't known they'd belonged to until now. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world to slot himself next to Derek and be innocently intimate without needing words.

Stiles's exhaustion was dragging on him by that point though and Derek picked up on it no matter how much Stiles tried to cover it up. Derek shook his head fondly and forced Stiles to lay on his chest in the warm afternoon sunlight and rest. Stiles only protested against this arrangement to say he had before nuzzling his head under Derek's chin. It didn't take long for their breathing to synchronize so as one took a breath the other released it. Stiles dozed in and out contentedly to the background noise of life among the trees and Derek's heart pumping rhythmically under his ear. At one point, he was almost asleep once more when the thought that had been nagging at him drifted across his mind again.

He blinked into full wakefulness and pushed himself up, most of his weight on his palms resting on either side of Derek’s head as he hung over him. Derek's hands, which had been resting on his back, slid to his sides as he moved but otherwise stayed where they were. Derek looked quite content as he blinked up at Stiles in the sleepy way he had after kissing hard and playing harder.

“You don’t seem like an omega,” Stiles observed, leaving the question unasked but dangling in the air for Derek to do with as he pleased.

Stiles had come across werewolves of almost every kind because of his family, so, for the most part, he knew their classification on sight. Derek was a little enigma for him though because Stiles knew there were no werewolves in the immediate area that Derek could be pack with, but he wasn't anything like an omega or at least the ones Stiles had run across.

Derek stared past Stiles at the sky for a moment, almost long enough that Stiles thought he wouldn't answer, before meeting his eyes again. Stiles could almost see the guard that Derek put up against the world melt away as his face softened looking at Stiles. He could feel the exact moment where Derek decided Stiles had earned the right to such an important part of his life.

“I’m not,” he answered, “My pack, my family, lives in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles stopped breathing for a second. Derek might as well have confessed his love for how intense the air became between them. This was Derek trusting that, though their worlds were so far apart, Stiles, his born enemy, would protect not only him but the most important people in his life. It was the breaking of a barrier he hadn't even noticed was between them. He felt compelled to give Derek something of himself as well, something just as dangerous. It was a terrifying and exhilarating feeling.

He hesitated a second, still caught up in the revelation, before he admitted, “My Dad's the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.”

“The Sheriff” Derek asked, taken aback, “I didn't think he knew about us.”

Stiles smiled far away at that and explained fondly, “He doesn't. My Dad’s not a hunter but he fell in love with my Mom and just learned not to ask about her family.”

Derek heard the glass shards around the words as Stiles talked about his mother. Derek understood loss and he knew Stiles did not want pity or apologies. So he put a gentle hand on Stiles’s cheek so their eyes met again and he conveyed his sympathy and understanding through just that simple show of affection. Stiles closed his eyes, expression soft again, and leaned into Derek’s hand.

“If your pack is in Beacon Hills,” Stiles asked, looking at him again as he changed the subject, “what are you doing so far south?”

“My sister and I were sent to visit another pack,” Derek said, thumb lightly stroking his cheek in a distracting manner, “My mother thought it would be good for us to become close with them since Laura is supposed to take over being alpha one day.”

Stiles frowned, confused, thinking back over the patrols he’d done since that night he’d caught Derek. “I haven’t seen any signs of her,” he said, again leaving the question unasked but there.

“She’s made it home,” Derek said, humor lighting his voice as he watched Stiles mind enter the focused field it always did when he was hunting.

“But how do you know that,” Stiles asked, still confused, “There haven’t been any reports of howling-”

Stiles cut himself off as Derek’s hand left his cheek and reached into his pocket. He flashed a black phone in front of Stiles’s face with a self-satisfied grin. Stiles slapped at the device, feeling ridiculous for assuming werewolves had no other means of communication. Derek chuckled at him and pulled him into a quick kiss that felt like forgiveness for his lapse in memory. Derek reminded him, in a lot of little ways he probably wasn't even aware of, how human werewolves were and how deeply Stiles’s family had ingrained in him not to think of them that way.

He grinned down at Derek, the warmth he felt reflected back at him in Derek’s eyes. It occurred to him how much he loved the simplicity of being together, the easy banter and soft touches that came with it, and how much he would like to do this forever. But reality slapped him hard as the thought crossed his mind and the grin slipped off his face. Derek took in the dire drop in Stiles’s mood with some concern.

“When do you have to get back,” Stiles asked soberly.

Derek understood then, and felt the reality of their situation creeping in around the edges where they'd been denying it. He pushed it away and was quiet for a moment, trying to think how best to smother those thoughts raging behind Stiles's eyes. He didn't ever want to see that look in Stiles's eyes, like he was giving up.

“I told them I was going to lie low for a while," he said seriously then turned a playful smirk on Stiles as he continued, "I can’t go back reeking of hunter after all.”

Stiles hummed mischievously at that and boldly licked a slow line up the right side of Derek’s neck. Derek shivered at the sensation on the exposed, sensitive skin. Stiles finished his daring move by looking smugly down at Derek as he licked his lips. Derek flipped them over with a playful growl, straddling Stiles’s waist and holding down his wrists as he said, “You shouldn’t do that to a werewolf.”

“You weren’t complaining at the time,” Stiles said wickedly then changed to a huskier tone as he leaned up toward Derek and asked, “Did I offend the big bad wolf?”

Derek had a mischievous grin of his own and he’d just opened his mouth to reply when a loud, obnoxious ringing sliced through the mood. Both of them tensed at the sudden noise, ready to fight, but on the second ring Stiles sighed and let his head fall back as he said, “That’d be my family.”

Derek released his hands and sat back, making to get up but one of Stiles’s arms looped around his back to hold him there as the other reached for his phone. He pulled himself against Derek’s chest, turning his head to one side as he answered the phone with a quick greeting. Derek’s core muscles tensed to hold them both in their upright position, arms settling themselves around Stiles's shoulders.

Derek heard the male voice over the phone order Stiles in clipped tones that left no room for argument, “Get back, now. We’re heading out in an hour.”

“Is it that one from the other night,” Stiles asked, his voice that of the calculated hunter but his arm tightened ever so slightly around Derek.

“No,” Chris said and Stiles relaxed a fraction as he continued, “We’ll brief you on the details but we need you here.”

“Understood, I’ll be there soon,” Stiles answered like a good little soldier and hung up.

He heaved a heavy sigh and put his weight back behind him on the heel of the hand still clutching his phone. Derek watched him for a second as Stiles stared at a point in space off to one side, thoughts running faster than they could be read. Derek shifted his weight and pushed off the ground without using his hands, Stiles’s hand sliding gently away.

The movement brought Stiles’s attention back to Derek, now standing over him. His eyes darted between both of Derek’s before he stuck out his arm toward him. Derek grabbed his wrist and helped pull him to his feet as he said, “You should get going.”

Stiles brushed the words away as he stepped in closer to Derek with a smirk on his lips and said, “I have a few minutes.”

He grabbed the back of Derek’s neck and pulled him, willingly, into a open mouthed kiss. It started out heated but it became softer and gentler. The reminder of their differences and the impossibility of what they were doing made them want to hold every second as even more precious than the last. They broke apart with a soft sound and just held each other with the melancholy of parting raging between them.

They both knew it was time for Stiles to be leaving. It felt like an hourglass was counting down and they were both trying desperately to get it to flip back for even a moment so they could spend a little longer in each other’s arms.

“Can I see you tomorrow,” Stiles asked, his head resting contentedly on Derek’s shoulder.

“I’ll find you,” Derek assured him, stroking his hair in a mindless rhythm.

“Not if I find you first,” Stiles threw back, teasing.

Derek chuckled like he doubted that. “I’d like to see you try.”

Stiles pulled back and raised his eyebrow in condescension, “You think your tracking skills are better than mine?”

“I’d have you in minutes,” Derek claimed, arrogantly, leaning into Stiles’s space so their noses almost brushed.

 “Want to bet,” Stiles challenged in an intimate whisper, getting so close their lips brushed on every word. It was too far away for Derek’s liking though. He darted forward but Stiles resisted with a smirk on his lips.

Derek growled low in his throat then pulled back as he said, giving in, “Fine, but don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“Good,” Stiles’s smirk grew and he leaned back in to kiss Derek one last time as he said with as much suggestion as he pack into the words, “I want this to be _hard_.”


	7. Chapter 7

They didn't meet the next day. Or the day following that. Stiles tried but it took three days for him to get away from his family, who were on him like flees on a stray. The omega he was hunting was weak but clever. Stiles had to be careful to block all its escapes and spent hours every day laying traps and every evening trying to force it into position. The Argents were adamant that he be the one to capture and kill it, that he take his time in finding and cornering it. He worked hard and fast but his mind wasn't in the hunt and every time he tried to sneak away another of the hunters was talking to him and dogging his steps.

When they finally found each other it was at a small ravine. They tucked themselves away in an outcropping of rock barely over their heads and didn't bother debating who had found whom or attempt any of their usual meeting playfulness. They didn't even speak as Derek grabbed the back of Stiles's head and the nape of his neck and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's back and held on for all he was worth, bunching the fabric of his shirt in tight fists. They held on like the other was the last tether against a storm and kissed with the full force of their separation driving them into each other.

They pulled back and rested their foreheads together, breathing heavily, drunk on each other. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Derek said calmly after a long moment, as though he were commenting on the weather, but they both knew there was more to it, questions, fear, and uncertainty that hung underneath the words and the distance.

Stiles took a deep breath that was heavily laced with Derek’s scent and the forest all around them. He sighed contentedly, as though he hadn't breathed properly since leaving Derek last.

“The family’s been crazy about this omega. It’s been a bear trying to get away. I've only got maybe half an hour now,” he nuzzled his nose against Derek’s and quieted as he said, “but I had to see you.”

Derek’s hand rubbed through Stiles’s hair like he was making sure Stiles was really there. It was a gentle, if desperate, gesture and Stiles closed his eyes to the sensation for a moment, a small sound of contentment leaving his throat. He committed to memory the warmth of Derek’s hand as it moved his hair and his fingertips brushed his scalp, leaving their impression there long after they’d passed so his entire head buzzed with Derek’s phantom touch.

Then Derek shifted back and Stiles opened his eyes to see him slowly shaking his head like he was talking himself into something. “You shouldn't have come,” he said, stern as he could make his voice.

He meant Stiles shouldn't have risked it, meant Derek would rather he be safe than have his own selfish desire to see him satisfied. But he realized what it actually sounded like a second too late as he looked into Stiles’s eyes. Stiles looked like Derek had punched him in the gut, betrayed, hurt, and surprised. He even took a step back defensively and curled in on himself a little to complete the picture. Derek’s hands were still hovering in the air where Stiles had been and he felt so oddly cold without him there. Their worry and fear, building up in the distance of days, had become volatile anger that crackled in the air around them, ready to strike at any second.

“Oh," Stiles said, his voice oddly empty and his eyes closed off, "You don't want me around while I'm hunting, I get it.”

“No, Stiles, that's not it,” Derek hurried to correct his mistake, annoyed with himself as he reached out for Stiles again, "I want you around no matter what, I just don't-"

“No,” Stiles slapped his hands away sharply and took another step back, his eyes feverish with misplaced anger and hurt as he started to yell, “I don't want to hear it. I just had three days of reminding that we-”

Derek’s frustration with himself was mounting as Stiles’s anger rose and his body screamed betrayal. He interrupted by chasing Stiles those agonizing steps that felt so much farther, roughly cupping his face with both hands, and pulling Stiles's forehead into his again as he said, vehemently, “Don’t.”

Stiles stumbled into him as he was pulled forward and his fists landed on Derek’s chest as he caught himself. He froze there, halfway between pushing Derek away out of self preservation and pulling him closer for the same reasons. They both stood in that tensed moment, trembling.  Their anger and fear dissipated slowly in the touch of the other, the reality of their solidness, as their breathing evened out. Derek pulled back to look at Stiles like it might be the last he got to do it and he was going to look his fill.

His thumb stroked across Stiles’s cheek of its own volition as Derek said, quietly, “Just don't, please. I…” But words seemed to fail him as everything he wanted to say got tangled on its way out and filled his throat in an unyielding lump.

He just stopped trying as he looked at Stiles, hoping he understood from just from that how much Derek would die inside if he lost Stiles now. His eyes were sincere and Stiles’s darted between them for a few seconds like he was trying to catch one of them faking him out. Derek felt some of the tension leave Stiles's body as his fists unclenched and the tendons in his neck became less pronounced. Then he nodded once and leaned in to catch Derek’s lips in a soft kiss that tasted like understanding.

Too soon, they had to part with the promise of tomorrow tentatively on their lips. Something about the past three days had driven home the reality for them and destroyed some illusion of the innocence of their actions. But it made things clearer too.

Stiles had never been so afraid of losing something. It was different than the fear of losing his mother. That was a fear laced with the slow inevitability of death and his helplessness to stop it. She had already fallen off the metaphorical cliff, but with Derek, they were forever sitting on that edge and the wrong move, slightest mistake could knock them over. Everything about them was moment to moment and so precious he wanted to lock it in amber so it would remain eternal.

It was an easy thought, that he would do anything to keep Derek, the most obvious and natural one in the world at that point. But the implications were so large he hadn't really given them serious thought until now. Their weight pushed him forward until Stiles found himself surrounded by his family once more and feeling more a stranger among them than ever.

“It’s all yours, Stiles,” Kate said proudly, as though she were presenting Stiles with his first car.

Kate’s sentiment was echoed through the group before the sound of a broadside leaving its sheath interrupted them. Stiles knew the great honor this was, he had dreamed of this day for so long and how good it would feel to finally be a real part of the family business. But now that he was actually here, he felt sick.

His catch was pitiful to behold. The werewolf looked like he had been living rough for awhile, on the run from other packs, maybe even his own, and probably other hunters too. It was bad luck that had landed him here, strung up and begging for his life against the Argents. Caught in one of his snares, it swayed above the ground, its arms suspended over its head, and it felt to him like a question from fate about how far he was willing to go.

He couldn't think of it as a person or he'd lose his nerve and the game would be up. He took a breath and straightened his shoulders, the eyes of his family boring into Stiles’s back like so many laser beams, cutting through his skin and into the deepest depths of his being. He swallowed, mouth dry, and could feel their pride like an acid on his skin as he took his place in front of the werewolf. He was about to become one of them, but looking at his prey, Stiles didn't feel like a hunter, he felt trapped.

Stiles tried not to listen to his blubbering about the man he’d torn apart already being dead, how he’d never hurt anyone, as he accepted the sword from Gerard with numb fingers. The weight, both physical and filled with the expectations of his family, pulled his arms down as he tried to keep the tip from hitting the ground. The old man clapped him on the shoulder and offered him some last minute pointers about swinging and a far too jovial for the situation, "Make us proud."

Stiles forced himself to hold the sword steady. It was a heavy, sure weight in his hands as he clasped the handle so many of his ancestors had used to do this same ritual. He wished he could have used any other weapon in the world for this, but Gerard had decided he would use the great sword. It was an important decision, a gift and privilege, one he couldn't simply throw back like he wanted. It meant a lot of things to his family, but Stiles couldn't have cared less that the old man hadn't awarded this particular honor to anyone since his own children had stood in Stiles's place.

Gerard was speaking, saying things that had been said at such times throughout their entire history. He was talking about family and duty, how accepting a new member fully into the fold was a momentous occasion awarded to few. He was meant to wait for Gerard’s say so, but Stiles didn't want to hear how he would become a true part of the family legacy, an irreplaceable part of a great machine of the gods or whatever. He didn't want to know how this was the true signing of the oath he’d taken, in blood, to protect others from these beasts.

The man before him did not look like a beast, he looked scared and weak, but Stiles knew he couldn't back down, as he’d done with Derek, not with everyone watching. He wished he could though as Gerard’s words wound his guts into tighter knots. Derek’s face suddenly rushed into his head and his calm voice told Stiles, “Do him a favor, make it fast.”

Stiles knew he had to, knew it was the least he could do, so he interrupting Gerard’s words with a grunt of effort as he put the heavy iron sword over his shoulder, wound all his muscles, and threw all his weight behind the swing. The sword cleaved into the man’s body and suddenly there was blood everywhere as the bottom half of him separated entirely from his body. Actually doing the killing was different than watching it done. Since he'd started his training, Stiles had almost become used to sight, but he'd never felt the ripping of flesh, the few milliseconds of resistance as the sword hit bone and sinew, and the final pull and release that meant he'd succeeded. Stiles wobbled as the sword’s momentum pulled him almost off his feet.

He felt his mouth hanging open as he watched the man’s body twitch as he died, unable to look away. Like a train wreck, Stiles watched with horrified fascination as the man’s head fell forward limply with one final whine. It wasn't the dirty man’s head he saw drop though, it was Derek’s. He looked away with a gasp and found himself breathing erratically. He dry heaved to the background noise of splattering as the man’s guts fell out onto the forest floor and, perhaps most grotesquely, laughter.

Gerard took the sword from Stiles's trembling hand as he bent over and was patting his back as he chuckled, “Looks like someone’s a little eager.”

Gerard moved away from him and Stiles was too disoriented to tell whose hand found his back next in a slap. The hunter who owned it said, laughing, “We all almost puke the first time. You’ll get used to it.”

Stiles sincerely hoped the day would never come that he got used to the feeling of rending flesh and bone. He got a hold of his retching just in time to hear a sound like a plunger leaving a toilet, but far less appetizing, as the fangs were pulled from the werewolf’s mouth. He shut his eyes tight and fought the nausea for all he was worth. He finally managed to straighten up and as he stood a round of cheers erupted and congratulations were rained upon him.

Stiles felt rather disoriented by the scene. There was a body several feet away from him, sliced clean in two, which he had put there, and his family was telling him what a good job he had done, like he’d just thrown the winning goal at a lacrosse game. He tried to smile back at them and probably managed a half grin but he kept catching glimpses of the body, now on the ground in a heap, between the crush of well wishers around him.

He was ridiculously relieved when they herded him back to the ATVs, even though he knew that back home he would have to endure a party in his honor where he would have to smile and the tell the story of his triumph again and again for everyone who had not been there. They would present him with the fangs of the werewolf he’d killed on a necklace that he would be forced to wear, a symbol that he was now a fully fledged hunter, a true and honest killer. And the whole time he would act victorious and smug to hide the part of him that would be screaming.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles stood in the middle of the misty clearing, staring at the ground, numb. He was so far from his mind that he barely registered the werewolf come up behind him, let alone spared enough mental capacity to react. Derek’s arms wrapped around his hunter and Stiles leaned back into his chest, feeling that it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands came up and rested on Derek’s arm with an acknowledging squeeze. Derek’s fingers brushed over the newly bleached fangs that still smelled faintly of blood which hung around Stiles’s neck like a brand. The young hunter shivered involuntarily at the touch and tightened his fingers around Derek’s arm as though letting go meant death, breath going cold in his chest. Stiles turned his head and buried his nose against Derek’s throat, needing the comfort of his breathing and his pulse.

“Congratulations,” Derek murmured into his ear.

“It doesn't feel right,” Stiles confessed, the words barely more than a breath on the crisp morning air.

Derek didn't say anything, simply tightened his arms comfortingly around Stiles and rested his cheek against Stiles’s head. Stiles relaxed marginally, knowing Derek wasn't going to leave him because of the mark of a killer his family forced around his neck. He had walked out here, so filled with mind numbing, horrific thoughts but one of his fears was finally assuaged and he could almost breathe again with Derek’s scent filling his lungs.

“Derek,” Stiles started, but trailed off as he nuzzled into his werewolf’s neck.

“What is it, Stiles,” Derek asked, quietly, gently stroking the back of Stiles's hand, coaxing him to speak.

Derek felt Stiles frown against his throat and bite his lip. He seemed to be sitting on the cusp of something very important and, for a second he would never admit to, Derek’s heart clenched in cold fear.

Stiles finally breathed out a long breath and said, “I don’t think I'm meant to be a hunter.”

Derek said nothing, allowing Stiles time to speak because he needed to, not offering or acknowledging his own thoughts.

“I've never been like the rest of my family,” Stiles continued, “I don’t take pleasure in the kills and I don’t believe in our ‘purpose’ and even now,” he took the fangs in a tight fist, “I still don’t feel like I belong, like I'm doing the right thing.”

Derek could practically taste Stiles’s distress, like a rising metallic tang on the air. He nuzzled his hunter gently and Stiles relaxed against him.

He felt Stiles smile against his neck as he said, “And then there’s you. This whole star-crossed lovers thing is causing me a lot of trouble.”

He went quiet again for a moment and the smile slowly dropped from his face. He shivered as the nightmares that had driven him on his early morning walk in the woods flashed across his mind again. Derek hanging from a tree as the blood drained from his face and Stiles desperately tried to put his guts back in, his family laughing and congratulating him in the background.

“I don’t ever want to have to lose you like that,” Stiles murmured, voice broken.

“Stiles,” Derek started gently, but the hunter in question interrupted him with a cold, certain statement, “I’d rather die.”

Derek looked sharply down at Stiles, but he already knew he wasn't lying. Stiles had lifted his head and his eyes were hard and certain as he looked back over his shoulder at Derek. Derek opened his mouth to say something but Stiles looked away and swallowed as he said, quietly, a vulnerable note to his voice, “I love you, Derek.”

It was the first time either of them had said it aloud. They both knew it in their hearts but the words and their truth suddenly floating in the air around them charged it with the finality of a summer heat storm, electricity crackling just at the edges. Derek felt like he was standing on a precipice and this was truly the point of no return. But he’d passed it a long time ago, he knew, from the moment that Stiles had cut those wires he’d belong to the hunter, had given him a place in his heart no one else had ever reached.

Derek cupped Stiles’s chin softly in his palm, and pulled him into a warm, affirming kiss. The angle was a little awkward over his shoulder but Stiles put a hand behind Derek’s head and kissed him back, body shaking slightly as all of his emotions rushed out in a physical response. A tear rolled down Stiles’s cheek from his closed eyes and mingled on their lips. Derek tasted it and his arms tightened on Stiles in a comforting, protective gesture as he kissed him softly, with everything he'd felt since first meeting his hunter.

And so, in the early morning mist of the forest, with the entire world trying to tear them apart, they sealed their love, like a sacred promise, with a tear salted kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

“Now that you are truly one of us,” Gerard said proudly to the room of assembled hunters around the planning table with the maps spread over it, “It is time you become a part of our newest hunt."

Stiles had naively believed that, now he'd caught and killed the omega, his family would leave him alone. He was supposed to be a full-fledged hunter now and free to go out on his own or join one of their outposts elsewhere, but it seemed only to have made things worse.

"Do you really need me for that," Stiles asked, trying to cover the desperation in his voice with impatience.

Stiles had taken the stairs one slow step at a time, going over his speech in his head. He'd planned to tell them that he'd be going to see his father and  was leaving on his own that night for Beacon Hills, which was true, except he'd leave out the part where he was going to pick up Derek along the way. Derek was waiting for him at the rendezvous point at that very moment and Stiles was trapped here, if the gleam in Gerard's eye was anything to go by. A pit of dread dropped into his stomach the longer he stood there.

"It may be the greatest battle we've faced in a century and we need all hands on deck,” Gerard answered gravely.

Stiles could feel the walls closing around him as the old hunter explained the plans they’d been laying with an occasional wave for one of the assembled to elaborate. Kate stood next to him with the same manic gleam in her eye. Chris stood in the shadows at the edge of the low hanging lamp’s light with his arms crossed stiffly. His wife, Victoria had her deceptively kind smile on as she stood beside Stiles.

She grabbed his neck encouragingly at one point, her long nails like talons pressing on his skin. He repressed a shiver at the sensation, wishing with all his heart that that hand belonged to Derek and the two of them were far away from the talk of the massacre unfolding in words and pointed fingers on paper before him.

He paid the right amount of attention and interjected where he was meant to, but he was not full of that sharp clarity of focus he usually was when thinking about the hunt. He hadn't seen Derek much since they'd decided to leave for Beacon Hills together and it was making him agitated.

“Something wrong, Stiles,” Gerard finally asked him pointedly after two hours of analyzing their attack patterns, escape routes, and choke points.

Stiles rubbed his forehead with one hand as he made up an excuse, slumping for effect, “I’m just tired, it’s been a long few days.”

Gerard looked at him for a moment without any real expression on his wizened face. The thought drifted across Stiles mind for a second that maybe Gerard knew what was really going on or at least suspected and he felt his back stiffen involuntarily before he forced himself to relax. In the next moment, it was worry for not because Gerard’s face softened into the kindly grandfather.

“It’s been a long few days for all of us. You've earned a rest. We can get back to this later. After all,” he added jokingly as an afterthought, “you’re not going anywhere.”

Stiles smiled at him and tried not to read into the words as he excused himself.

 

Stiles had banned the use of cell phones as contact since he found out Derek had one. He'd memorized the number, but it was too dangerous to actually call or text him. The Argents kept records of all electronic correspondence with and around their hunters and it made more sense for him to go find Derek than to find a payphone that was equidistant.

So, Stiles was left with no other option than to hike out to meet him. Their planned rendezvous point was off on a dirt side road, north east and far out of the way of the hunter's usual patrol routes, where Stiles could have easily picked him up without detection and they could drive the rest of the way. Derek met him a couple miles out from the spot, like he'd been pacing when he caught Stiles's scent.

There was a tension in the air when they met, that of two people who have something unpleasant they don’t wish to report to the other. They stood close though, barely an inch between them, but for all it was worth, they might as well have been across oceans. So thick was the burden on their minds that they did not so much as embrace, like the things yet to be said were literally forcing them apart. Neither tried to meet the other's eye.

"You're early," Derek commented but there was tension in the question under the casual words.

"Yeah," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I have something to tell you."

"Me too," Derek admitted.

They sat in silence for a moment, neither wanting to deliver his news first. When the silence had stretched to gargantuan proportions, Derek squared his shoulders but, at the same time, Stiles opened his mouth and they both started talking at the same time. They both stopped and waited for the other to continue, in perfect sync. They exchanged a fond glance at that and Stiles tilted his head theatrically to Derek to indicate he go first. Derek took a deep breath and looked away from Stiles again as he steeled himself.

“My mother called,” Derek said, looking torn, “There's another pack heading into our territory, a pack of alphas. They say they're coming peacefully but she's doesn't trust them and they're strong; we need everyone there as soon as possible.”

At this, Stiles's memory tripped over the information that had been bombarded at him in the planning room with the Argents. He hadn't paid that much attention to where they were actually planning to corner the alpha pack but, now he thought about it, it was at the edge of the Beacon Hills Nature Preserve. He hadn't really thought about what the pack might be doing or the fact that that particular tract of land so far from Beacon Hills might be Hale territory. Urgency filled his limbs as he realized that, with that many hunters around, Derek's family might get caught in the crossfire.

Derek's eyes were set resolutely on a point to Stiles’s left. Stiles shifted into it, trying to catch Derek’s eyes. He stubbornly moved them elsewhere. Stiles, equally as stubbornly, moved again as he said, urgently, “You have to leave without me. Right now.”

Derek was so caught off guard he forgot to keep his eyes away from Stiles. Stiles tried not to smile at his victory when the situation was so serious and Derek looked so obviously bewildered and not so obviously hurt. Stiles continued before Derek got the wrong idea, “My family is heading north to take out the alpha pack. I don't think the Argents know about your family. You have to warn them to stay out of sight. Just let us take care of the alphas and I'll find you when it's over.”

In a single blink the fear was gone from Derek’s eyes and his posture relaxed. He knew it was foolish to still worry that Stiles would tire of him, but it was a fear they both shared so it was one he was not ashamed of and even less ashamed of disillusioning. To this end, he pulled Stiles in so they eliminated the space between them and finally were connected by touch again.

Derek felt Stiles relax against him but he was still tense, especially with This news. "This pack is different, Stiles, like nothing we've ever seen. Even my mother sounded worried. The hunters can't take them alone. I won't leave you to die," Derek finished his warning sharply, like the very thought needed to be threatened. His harsh breath warming the skin just under Stiles's ear and his arms tightened around Stiles's shoulders.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, his quick mind formulating plans and running through scenarios. Derek could practically smell the metaphorical gears grinding together in his head. He pulled back to look at Derek, his eyes dark with thought.

He finally spoke with the authority and confidence of a military commander, "The advance is moving toward Beacon Hills tomorrow. I'll go with them and stay with my Dad. He isn't that far away from an outpost so they shouldn't question it. I'll be running the trails as much as I can, find me. Maybe there's something we can do."

Derek nodded his assent, much happier with the idea of Stiles being close to his territory, where Derek could protect him, than he would let on to him.

They came to the point then where there was nothing else to say on the matter and their duties called them in opposite directions. It was a feeling neither of them liked. But, Derek did not want the last image he saw of Stiles before they parted to be that bitterness they both felt at its necessity.

He leaned in swiftly, watching Stiles's pupils dilate and his heart race as Derek whispered three words against his lips. Derek had never felt Stiles lose his breath outside a fight until that moment.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey Dad,” Stiles started hesitantly but his question died on his tongue and he looked away from his father’s back.

Something in his son’s tone made him turn to look at the boy sitting at the table. He was holding his soup spoon vertically with the tip of his finger on the top of the scoop and the handle on the table, spinning it in a slow rotation. He was staring into it with a crease in his brow, like he might see the answers to the universe in it.

“What is it Stiles,” he asked coming back to the table and sitting down in the chair next to him, watching him carefully.

Stiles opened his mouth for a second like he was going to speak then clenched his teeth together, frown deepening. He looked to be having a strong internal battle. The Sheriff could pick out emotions occasionally in the blurry maelstrom, uncertainty, anxiety, desperation for answers.

“It’s just,” Stiles started, trying to phrase his inquiry to get the answers he needed but terrified of what they might be. His father suddenly understood the look on his face, that of a young man trying to understand his place in a cruel world that didn’t want him to be who he was. It saddened him to see and, not for the first time, he wished Claudia was here if only to pull the words from them both to make this better.

As though the thought had conjured the words Stiles finally asked, “Did Mom ever question her family’s code?” His words were hesitant with the taboo and delicate with the mention of his mother but certain all the same, seeking the answer. He finally looked back up at his Dad, his eyes full of a desperate need to hear something, though he didn’t seem sure what.

Sheriff Stilinski didn’t understand what this was about, but he had never liked Stiles getting so heavily involved with the Argents. Seeing the look in his son’s eyes and the weight resting on his shoulders, he knew he’d been right. He sat back in his chair, his wife’s smiling face flitting before his eyes and cutting longingly at his heart.

“You remind me so much of your mother sometimes,” he began with a smile tempered with loss, “She asked me something similar once.”

“She did,” Stiles asked a little surprised.

The older Stilinski nodded his head, lost in memory for a moment. “She wouldn’t tell me what had happened exactly but it upset her enough to wonder if she should stay in the family business. I think it must have had something to do with this.” He got up and left the kitchen, Stiles swiveling in his chair to watch. He returned with a book from the mantle and opened it to a page bookmarked with a creased, discolored, and mildly tattered photo.

“I found it in her coat pocket after it happened,” he said, handing the photo to Stiles.

Stiles took the picture gingerly so as not to cause it more harm. It was wallet sized with what was once a white border around the faded and discolored picture of a group of people surrounding a blissfully happy man in front of a plain brick wall. It was probably over a couple of decades old and looked like it had been crushed in someone’s hand and ground into the dirt at some point. Everyone in the picture had their eyes closed but in the bottom left corner there was, what the untrained eye would call, a lens flare. Stiles was willing to bet the picture would be covered in the flares of light if the subjects had all opened their eyes for the picture. There was a stain in upper right corner that looked a little like spilled ink but Stiles recognized as aconite poisoned werewolf blood.

Stiles fixated on the man in the center, the one they are all gathered around, their alpha. He looked familiar for some reason but Stiles couldn’t place his face. “Who is that,” he asked pointing at the man.

“I believe that’s Deucalion,” his dad said hesitantly like he was one hundred percent sure how to say the name, “I had to deal with him and some of his buddies making a scene at the hospital not long before. I only remember him because he was the only calm one of the group, the rest were out for blood.”

Stiles became silent and pensive, absorbed in examining the picture. Sheriff Stilinski had looked it over many times; he knew every rip and facial expression, so he watched his son instead. Stiles had a newly healing scratch on his neck that was just barely covered by his shirt and a bruise on his arm that was turning an ugly yellow. His father knew he had more injuries under the protective layers of his clothing and scars he hated to think about, but this was the life Stiles had chosen for himself after his mother had passed. He had respected Stiles’s wishes, but, if it was making him unhappy, his father didn’t see anything wrong with backing out.

He put a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. Stiles looked up at him, disengaging from the photo. “Stiles, no matter what you choose to do, I’ll be behind you, you know that. So don’t worry about the Argents. Do what makes you happy. And know that no matter what, I’m proud of you and your mother would be too,” he said it firmly, sincerely.

He watched Stiles face become younger before his eyes, released from the fear that his father would reject him for not following his promise. His eyes brimmed with tears but he smiled. Suddenly he was up out of his chair and hugging his father as they hadn’t done in a long time.

“I love you, Dad,” he said through a constricted throat.

The Sheriff hugged his son tighter and returned the sentiment, “I love you too, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Tumblr [here](http://alexdoesthings.tumblr.com/)


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